


Lord of My Heart

by runningwithdinosaurs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek, Bottom Derek Hale, First Time, M/M, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Rimming, Top Stiles, Top Stiles Stilinski, Warning: Kate Argent, mentions of versatile Sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4410890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningwithdinosaurs/pseuds/runningwithdinosaurs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Derek of Hale has run from the only home he has ever known after the ultimate betrayal. With nowhere to turn, he ends up on a minor noble named Stiles's doorstep. Has Derek finally found a Lord worthy of the title?</p>
<p>(Or the medieval AU you didn't know you needed where everything is completely different yet still mostly the same.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lord of My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ooinugirloo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ooinugirloo/gifts).



> Well, here it is! And let me tell you, it was a struggle even posting this... not to complain or anything, but I was actually in the ER close to six hours today with a concussion. But I knew I had to post this! So here we are. Dedicated to the awesome ooinugirloo who gave me this amazing prompt in the Bottom!Derek Fic Exchange!

Utter silence was unnerving. Most people didn't notice the rustling of leaves or the whistle of the wind. At least, until they were gone. It was unnatural. Especially in a forest usually so vibrant. The silence was a sign of foul play and Derek didn't like it. The only thing he could hear was the pounding of his own boots against the forest floor and nothing else. Not even the mounted guards he was sure were hot on his heels. He needed to find shelter and he needed to find it fast. He'd been on his feet for three days, with only the food he could catch himself to sustain him. He longed for a yeast roll.

He never should have left so hastily. It was a foolish mistake that a seasoned knight shouldn't have made. But he'd had to get out of that house. He'd had to get away from that man and his wicked daughter. He couldn't-

Derek saw a castle through a break in the trees. His gut lurched and he changed direction, veering off the path toward the welcome sight. He just hoped whatever lord—minor lord from the looks of it—lived there was willing to house a wayward knight for a day or so. He hesitated on the edge of the forest, wary of sacrificing the cover the trees provided, and eyed the wide, grassy expanse between himself and the castle. He was painting a target on his back the minute he set foot in that clearing. Derek's body tensed all over, a coiled snake ready to strike. With a deep breath, he sprinted into the glade.

Almost immediately, arrows started to whiz past him. Luckily Gerard's archers were truly terrible shots and each arrow missed him by a wide berth. Until one didn't. He was mere feet away from the open courtyard gate, he could hear the pounding of hooves behind him and arrows continuing to fly, when one found its mark. A spark of pain shot through his right shoulder and he staggered. With a final burst from his last reserves of energy, he burst through the gate and ran to the closest door of the small castle. He banged his fist against the door three times before listing to the side. He was propped up on the doorframe when the door swung open. A dimpled, beaming servant stood before him, but his happy face morphed to one of concern when he saw Derek's precarious lean and the telltale stain of blood.

"What happened?" he cried.

"I need to see your master at once!" Derek wheezed and then collapsed to the ground, seeing and hearing no more.

***

Derek's first waking thought was, _Soft_. He slowly stretched his heavy limbs and gasped when his right shoulder barked from pain. He cracked open an eye and surveyed the room he was in. It was large and well-appointed: the bed curtains were silk and the bed linens were soft, as previously observed. However, the sun was streaming in through a window and right into his face. Whoever had placed the bed was a halfwit. The bright sunlight made Derek's head pound, so he growled deep in his throat.

Someone out of his field of vision snorted. "Someone's not a morning person."

Derek strained to see who had spoken and a young lad stepped up next to the bed. He was handsome and dressed in the finery of a lesser Lord. The rich burgundy material clung to broad shoulders and muscled arms, though not as defined as Derek's, and the hand that reached out toward the bed was large and rough, like Derek's own. But his skin was fair—the mark of nobility—and dotted with moles. "Who are you?" the lord asked bluntly, his large, liquid amber eyes wide and alert. "And why did you come here?"

"I am a knight," Derek answered equally as frank.

The lord let loose an inelegant little snort. "Obviously." At Derek's confused look, he continued, "From your dress."

Derek's cheeks heated. He was usually a lot faster on the uptake. But he'd been sleeping for who knows how long and he'd had a rough few days. "I am a knight," he reiterated, "who deserted his post. I am Sir Derek Hale of Beacon, ne Argent. Though I would sooner kill Argent myself than raise my sword for him again."

"A rogue knight who has deserted his lord—why shouldn't I kill you where you lay?" the man asked and the next thing Derek knew, there was a blade to his throat. Derek hadn't even seen him _move_.

"Because Gerard of Argent burned my entire family alive six years ago and I just found out."

The sword was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "I always _knew_ something untoward was the cause. Why else was the door barricaded? Marauders," the lord huffed. "That part of the kingdom hasn't seen marauders for a hundred years, at least. Mostly because of the Hales." He leveled Derek with a calculating look. "So it was old Gerard himself that killed his best knights six years ago?" Derek nodded. "How did you survive? Though," he squinted, "you must have been only a lad then."

Derek thought it was rich that this boy was calling _anyone_ "just a lad," but he answered anyway. "I was sixteen years of age. And I was out visiting friends with my sister."

"So she also survived?"

"Yes," Derek nodded. "But she too was murdered, not a fortnight ago. Which is how I discovered the truth of what came to pass all those years ago."

"I am truly sorry for your pain," the lord said, voice sincere. Derek believed that he meant it. "Why did you not just kill Gerard and be done with it?"

Derek balked, like it was that simple. Then again, on second thought, maybe it was. He'd missed his window of opportunity. "I missed my chance, didn't I?" he asked, just to torture himself. The lord nodded. "All I could think of was getting away from him, from that castle, from that family. And I ruined everything."

"Do not fear," the man said. "I will help you avenge your family."

Derek blinked. "You'll what?"

"I will do what I should—help you avenge your family," he repeated.

"Why?"

"Because it is the right thing to do." The man's lips twitched. "And I have always hated the Argents. Especially Gerard."

"My lord-"

"Stiles," the man interrupted and at Derek's confused look, he shrugged. "My name is Stiles."

"Stiles...?" Derek asked leadingly.

"Just Stiles," Stiles replied firmly.

"But, my lord-"

"We are in the middle of nowhere, Sir Hale. It is Stiles."

Derek sighed. "Then please honor me by calling me Derek, my lo- Stiles."

"I shall," Stiles smiled. "I shall also help you make Gerard of Argent pay for his crimes."

Derek settled his head back on the pillow. "I know I have just made your acquaintance, but for some reason I feel my objection would fall on deaf ears."

"Indeed," Stiles beamed. "You're a smart man, Derek." He sobered. "Now get some more rest. Our plots can wait until you regain your strength."

Too tired from the exchange to protest, Derek complied and closed his eyes. He was asleep within moments.

***

Later—it could have been days, it could have been hours…Derek didn't know—he woke up, still in that soft, luxurious bed and the sun was still shining brightly and birds were happily singing and...it was far too picturesque for Derek's current state of mind. Yet, he felt some hope when he remembered the lord—Stiles's—promise to help Derek seek his revenge on Gerard. Derek still wasn't sure why Stiles wanted to help so badly or if he even would in the end (for all Derek knew, Stiles had already sent for Gerard and Derek was a dead man), but for the moment, it lightened his overly heavy heart.

Though the shining sun hurt his eyes, he knew the stale air of the castle would only hinder his recovery, so after carefully stripping off his underthings, trying his best not to jostle his injured, tightly-bandaged shoulder, and dressing in the fresh clothing someone had left on the chair near his bed, Derek ventured outside. As he walked through the castle, he couldn't understand the lack of people. The Argents always had at least twenty servants on staff, usually more, so there was always someone under foot. Here, he literally came across no one on his path down to the courtyard. It was…odd. What kind of lord had so few servants?

Yet, the castle was well-appointed, with rich furnishings and multiple intricate tapestries lining the halls. Derek emerged out a side door and was pleased to discover he had found his destination on his first try. But again, he expected the courtyard to be bustling due to the lack of people in the interior, but there were a total of three people that he could see in front of him. And one of them was Stiles. Derek lingered in the doorway to watch the scene before him. Stiles and his dimpled servant were sparring. An old, battered knight with crazy dark hair (it was sticking straight up from his head) stood off to the side, occasionally shouting incomprehensible demands at the dueling lads. The servant was adept with a blade, but it was Stiles who caught Derek's eye. His movements had a fluidity and grace that Derek had never seen before; he parried easily and struck with a deadly speed that had Derek gaping and the servant laughing delightedly as he was "killed." Stiles was a pleasure to watch, but it was clear he was not being challenged.

Derek took a tentative step out into the stone courtyard and cleared his throat. The knight kept up the tirade he was delivering to the servant, but Stiles's eyes immediately slid to Derek. "You're up!" he beamed and hurried over. "How are you feeling?"

"Your servant is no match for your skill," Derek blurted instead of a normal response like, _I'm feeling much improved, thank you for your hospitality_. Laura always said he had about as many courtly manners as the King's prized dogs. He waited for the burst of pain to follow the thought of his sister, but he didn't have time, because Stiles burst out laughing at his comment.

"Right down to business, aren't you, Derek?" he said after he calmed down. "Scott does his best, but he didn't have the tutors I was lucky enough to have. _I_ was his tutor. So..." he smiled mischievously. "What you're _really_ saying is that I am a horrible teacher."

Derek blanched. "That's not-"

"I know," Stiles interrupted, laughing a little again. "I like to joke. You'll learn that about me during our acquaintance. Now," he motioned to his servant, who was still on the ground from Stiles's "killing" blow, "like I said, this is Scott, my head of household and my best friend. His mother is my physician and she’s the finest in the land. And _that_ ," he jerked his head at the old knight, "is Sir Finstock, theoretically my champion, but really someone my father sends places with me to test my patience."

Derek's head was spinning. Stiles's servant was also his _best friend_? Stiles had a father who wasn't around? (Well, that one wasn't quite so shocking…) This Finstock was supposed to _protect Stiles_? "I'll train you," fell from his mouth before Derek even fully formed the thought.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "I've had the best tutors. What can you teach me that they haven't?"

"Nothing," Derek said. "Your technique and ability are excellent from what I've seen. But I _can_ train you for actual battle situations." Because Stiles fought sparred like he'd never had to fight for his life before.

Stiles tilted his head to the side, considering Derek. "Yes, I will accept your offer. On one condition."

"What?"

"You have to answer my original query and tell me how you're feeling!" Stiles winked at him.

Derek felt his cheeks burn. This lord was unlike any other Derek had ever met. "I am much improved, Stiles. Thank you for your hospitality." Somewhere, in the great beyond, Laura was beaming.

***

They started training together the very next day. It was clear that Stiles had not been exaggerating when he said he'd had the best teachers. But all the training in the world couldn't create natural skill and that's something Stiles had in droves. He actually caught himself pausing between strikes to admire Stiles's choice of defensive strategy or a particular spin move away. He carried himself with supreme confidence, but it was still clear that he had never been in actual combat.

He didn't hit nearly hard enough. He'd never had to fell a man in the heat of battle.

But Derek was pleased because that meant there was much he could teach the young lord. And Derek had always been a firm believer in an eye for an eye, only, in this case, it was a positive thing, like a good deed for a good deed. Derek's expertise for the lord's hospitality.

Right off the bat, Derek decided he wouldn't take it easy on Stiles. That was no way to learn. So on that very first day, he knocked Stiles to the ground.

Stiles blinked up at him from the hard stone he'd just hit and for a moment, Derek thought Stiles was going to yell at him and condemn him to the dungeons, his face looked so surprised and hurt. But then a slow smirk spread on Stiles's face and Derek knew he was safe. "Now _this_ I can work with!" Stiles crowed delightedly and jumped back to his feet. "Finally a real opponent!"

"Hey!" Scott's offended voice drifted over from where he sat, splitting his time between feeding the chickens and watching their match. "I heard that."

"I think you were meant to," Derek replied and Stiles grinned.

"You think right, sir," Stiles confirmed and immediately resumed his fighting stance. "Let's begin."

And Derek attacked again.

They went on like that for little more than a week, with Stiles making slow but consistent progress and Derek avoiding basically everyone he came across in the castle. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for all that Stiles and his small household had done for him—and continued to do for him—it was just that…he was awkward. Always had been. And Stiles wasn't. Stiles talked about everything and anything, more than Derek had ever heard anyone talk before. Even when it was clear no one was listening.

Maybe Stiles was a little awkward too.

"Now you're just making it easy," Stiles complained as he swept Derek's feet out from under him for the second time during their training session. The amount he'd learned in a week was astonishing and Derek would be lying if he said it didn't fill him with a small amount of pride.

"I'm really trying not to," Derek muttered as he climbed back to his feet. "You're just getting that good."

Stiles chest puffed up and Derek rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming. "Would you say I'm the best you've ever faced?" Stiles prodded. "Nay, the best you've ever _had_?" He wiggled his eyebrows at Derek lecherously.

Derek had gotten used to Stiles's constant flirtation (he did it as much as he walked and talked, which was to say, a lot), but it still took a lot out of him to avoid turning bright red.

"Ask me again in the morning," Derek retorted and Stiles barked out a surprised, delighted laugh.

"You know, Hale? I like you. I'm going to keep you around."

"Until Gerard comes for me," Derek muttered.

He expected Stiles to snap at him or tell him that it would never happen. He didn't expect Stiles to grin nastily and say, "Don't worry; we'll take care of him."

***

Which is how they're training sessions also turned into plotting sessions. Derek knew he could get into the Argent castle undetected, and Stiles seemed confident that they could take Gerard down if they got inside. Derek didn't think so. Then again, Derek didn't even think the plan would ever actually be carried out, so...

He knew Stiles was humoring him.

"I almost had you that time," Stiles boasted as they walked toward Derek's chambers. As Stiles's skill increased, Derek found himself reverting to his top fighting form, as well.

"But you didn't," Derek teased. "As I recall it, I pinned you."

"Which I _know_ isn't fighting etiquette," Stiles accused.

"The rules don't apply in the heat of battle," Derek replied, feeling as if he was forever harping on that point.

"I know," Stiles replied easily. "But I also know you wanted to get me on my back."

Derek stopped dead. He _knew_ Stiles was just playing with him, but every time the boy flirted, it flustered him. Mostly because he knew there was no way the lord was serious. "You got me," he deadpanned. "You've finally caught onto my dastardly plan."

Stiles chuckled. "I knew it. Now," he turned serious as they entered Derek's chamber. "Down to business." He walked over to the large round table in the corner of the room, which was strewn with crudely drawn maps (Derek was not an artist) and copious lists (Stiles _loved_ to make lists). "We know how we're getting in and how we're getting out. We know how we're going to get to Gerard. The question is…how long will we have until his secret guard shows up? And what do you want to do with that time?"

Derek took a deep breath. It got a little harder every day, planning this, because he knew it wasn't going to happen. But every time they added a new piece to the plan, he couldn't help but hope, just a little. "Gerard's men are some of the most well-trained in the land, as we've already covered. He'll have some sort of secret code that even I don't know to sound the alarm. We'll have to be sure to disarm and gag him before he can do that. Otherwise, we'll be overtaken in less than a minute. Which is not _nearly_ enough time for what I want to do to that man," Derek finished grimly.

"So what we really need is both the element of surprise and a way to decommission Gerard quickly," Stiles surmised.

"Indeed."

'That's not a tall order or anything," Stiles sighed, sagging against the table and rubbing his eyes.

"I wish Laura were here," Derek found himself saying. "She would have known what to do."

Stiles quirked an eyebrow at him, as if to say, _Go on_.

"She was the strategist in our family," Derek supplied, not really sure why he was talking about his dead sister. He didn't talk about his family with anyone. "She'd have had this figured out in two days."

"Well, unfortunately, you're stuck with me," Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. "And I'm trying, but I'm a bit rusty on strategy."

"Stiles," Derek placed a hand on the lord's shoulder before he could talk himself out of it. "You've done more to help me in two weeks than anyone else has my entire life. Except my family. And Gerard killed them."

"Which is why we're going to kill _him_ ," Stiles finished, his resolve returning.

Derek almost believed him.

***

"And my father _hates court_ ," Stiles choked out between laughing. "So he tells this countess that he'll see her there, and then he rode out to stay at our summer home for like three months. In December."

Derek smiled. To see Stiles talk about his father, probably a mid-level lord with the ear of the king (since the family has _four_ homes that Stiles has mentioned), was truly a beautiful sight to behold. Nothing in the world seemed to make the boy happier. Except possibly plotting with Derek.

Though, they're planning sessions had…stalled…as of late. More often than not, they would make one minor decision regarding their assassination plot and then devolve into speaking of other things. As the days went on, Derek couldn't honestly imagine his life without Stiles in it in some capacity. Even if he was just Derek's lord. The longer he stayed in Stiles’s house, the more confident he became that, if he survived the confrontation with Gerard, he would pledge his sword to Stiles for the rest of his days.

"Your father is a clever man," Derek replied. "Though I doubt as clever as you."

Stiles's cheeks pinked up just a bit and he whacked Derek in the shoulder. "None of your flattery. It will get you _everywhere._ "

"I'm counting on it."

Stiles groaned, loud and long. "You will be the death of me, Sir Hale. You cannot just _say_ things like that with no intent to follow through!”

But that’s what they did. They… _flirted._ And that was it.

“My parents…” Derek began hesitantly, partly to change the subject and partly because he found himself wanting to share his memories with Stiles (another first), “…really hated each other when they first met.”

“Rather like how you felt about me,” Stiles joked gently.

Derek felt his neck heat. But, nevertheless, he nodded. “But after a while, they realized their ‘hate’ was really a disguise for fierce love. They had hidden it because when have a knight and a lady ever married?”

“No one would have found it odd if your father practiced courtly love with her. He could have been her champion,” Stiles pointed out, turning more toward Derek where they sat huddled close together on the rug between the large wooden table and the crackling fire.

Derek shook his head. “No, my mother wanted more. She didn’t want to marry a man she didn’t love so she could carry on with my father. So she ran away and they married.”

“Wow,” Stiles breathed. “Your mother sounds incredible.”

“She was,” Derek said sadly. “They thought they had found refuge when Gerard opened his household to them. No one else would support a disgraced knight and his shamed bride. Gerard was their savior.” Derek snorted. “Savior my ass.”

“Gerard will die,” Stiles bit out. Derek was surprised at the fire in his eyes. “He will pay for what he did to you and your family.”

For the first time, Derek had no doubt that Stiles would do everything in his power to make that come to pass.

***

There were few things in the world more captivating than Stiles when he was fully focused on something. He’d bite his lip, crinkle his eyebrows and tense his body, all energy fully invested in whatever had his attention. It never failed to distract and disarm Derek. Stiles’s eyes never burned brighter than when they had a mystery to solve or a puzzle to crack.

Unfortunately for Derek, Stiles’s current puzzle was defeating Derek in hand-to-hand combat. As soon as Stiles’s teeth started digging into his lower lip, Derek knew he was sunk. His eyes fixed on the movement and Stiles had him pinned in less than ten seconds.

“Now you’re just teasing me,” Stiles huffed out, pressing Derek’s wrists into the stone beneath them and straddling Derek’s hips, knees brushing the fabric of Derek’s tunic.

Derek closed his eyes. “I wish I was.”

“Have I just gotten _that_ good?” Stiles sounded delighted and Derek refocused on the lord, smiling when he saw the look of pride and disbelief on the young face.

“Yes,” Derek admitted, knowing that even if he hadn’t gotten distracted by Stiles’s lips (not like _that_ , he swore to himself), the noble had as good a chance as any to best the knight.

“Victory!” Stiles leapt to his feet and threw his arms in the air. “My life is complete!”

Derek laughed. “If your life is complete because you knocked a knight to the ground, I think your life has been pretty pathetic thus far.”

“Hey!” Stiles pretended to scowl as he held out a hand to Derek and helped haul the man to his feet. “My life has been quite full, thank you. Besides, it’s not just _any_ knight I bested. It’s _the_ Derek of Hale, son of the noble Sir Hale and his brave wife. It’s practically a bedtime story and I won!”

“My life is _not_ a bedtime story,” Derek grumbled.

“Do you want it to be?” Stiles raised one eyebrow, a smirk playing across his lips. “I could help you write it.”

Derek stared at him for a number of moments before he turned bright red when the meaning sunk in. “ _Stiles_ ,” he hissed.

“What?” Stiles beamed and shrugged. “Can’t fault a man for trying, right?”

Not for the first time, Derek wondered if Stiles was actually serious. Did he actually _want_ Derek like that? Was that even _possible_? Could two men… He’d heard stories and…

“Relax,” Stiles clapped him on the shoulder. “I jest.”

Derek was shocked to find that, instead of feeling relief, he felt disappointment.

***

Even with all of their planning and all of Stiles’s assurances, Derek had never truly thought that this night would come: the next day, they were going to kill Gerard.

Derek feared for Stiles; of course he did. The young lord could most assuredly handle himself in a fight—he could have long before Derek, really—but Derek knew the king would not look kindly on this sort of vigilante justice. Yet Stiles had told him time and again that he would be fine, that he would take responsibility for his actions, that he _wanted_ to help Derek wreak havoc on the man who had done the same to Derek’s whole life. Yet…

“I will only ask once more. Are you sure?” Derek murmured from where they sat propped up by the wall next to their planning table in Stiles’s chambers.

Stiles rolled his head to look at him. “That was one inquiry too many, Sir Hale. I challenge you to a duel. If I had a glove, I would smack you with it.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Fine. You are too stubborn to back out now anyway, I’m sure.”

“Now what could have given you _that_ idea?” Stiles teased, scooting closer. “I am the picture of cooperation.”

Derek laughed. “Now I’m afraid you _are_ mad and that’s why you hatched this scheme that will probably end in both of our deaths.” He too was trying to tease, but his voice turned serious at the end, unable to fathom a world without Stiles in it.

Stiles laid a hand on his shoulder. “Derek, I appreciate that you like my being alive. I too am rather fond of you in that state. If you’d prefer to back out, I wouldn’t blame you or think less of you, I promise. But I shall right this wrong that happened in _my kingdom_.”

Stiles’s voice held such conviction when he said _my kingdom_ that Derek knew he wouldn’t be able to convince him to stay behind. Still, he tried. “I could never back down now. But if you-”

“Finish that thought and you will find yourself actually in my bad graces, not just my play ones,” Stiles cut him off, steel lacing his tone.

Derek would give his life for this man, no hesitation. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “I shall be honored by your presence.” He inclined his head in a slight bow.

For some reason, that made Stiles choke a little and start giggling maniacally. Derek couldn’t help it. He started to laugh as well. He didn’t know how long their merriment dragged on, but eventually, between heaving breaths, Derek tried to inquire, “Stiles, are you-”

Stiles leaned forward and kissed him.

Derek jerked back, eyes wide. “My lord-”

“Sorry, I’m…I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry,” Stiles babbled, hands twisting in his lap, focusing on the table in front of them and looking nowhere near Derek. “I was wrong.”

“You weren’t,” Derek said simply.

It was Stiles’s turn to train wide, honey eyes on Derek. “What?”

“I want you to,” Derek replied, deciding then and there that that _was_ what he wanted. He wanted this man more than he’d ever wanted another. And though they were both men, there had to be… _something_ they could do.

“Are you sure?” it was Stiles’s turn to ask, hand catching Derek’s chin and gripping it tight, forcing Derek to look at him.

Derek smiled, “That was one inquiries too many, my lord.”

A slow, steady smirk spread across Stiles’s face. And then he pounced.

Between getting the wind knocked out of him and Stiles pinning him to the stone floor, Derek couldn't seem to draw any kind of substantial breath. Especially when Stiles kissed him again.

The shock of those lips pressing against his own pushed a gasp out of Derek and he broke away, panting heavily. Stiles sat back on his heels, eyes wide. "Sorry…sorry." He tried to shuffle away on his knees, but Derek grabbed his arm.

"Where are you going?" He brought his other hand up to stroke a finger down Stiles's cheek. Perhaps too intimate for the romp to blow off steam Stiles had in mind, but Derek didn't care.

Stiles smiled and leaned back in; this time the kiss was soft and measured, almost like he was afraid to spook Derek. Derek would have none of that; he may never have lain with a man before, but he knew the ways of the world and how men wet their dicks. It had been a long time, but Derek knew how to pleasure someone. So he pushed into the kiss, turning it desperate and dirty, their lips catching and their tongues sliding wetly together. Stiles moaned and climbed back into Derek's lap, pressing on his shoulders until Derek took the hint and laid back.

If Derek thought he knew what to expect from an encounter like this, he quickly found out that he was wrong. Kate had been…rough. Not that Stiles was overly gentle, but where Kate had forced his mouth to her womanly folds and ridden his face until he was numb (which he hadn't minded, but it would have been nice to have a say) and then ridden another part of his body until he released himself in her, Stiles undressed him slowly, revealing each new piece of skin and running his lips and tongue along the heated flesh before moving on. Instead of forcing himself into Derek's mouth, he leant down and instead took Derek's cock into his own, hand rubbing his stomach soothingly even as the warm, wet heat took him apart. He disconnected with a lewd popping sound that set Derek's already red cheeks on fire. Where Kate had barely spoken to him, Stiles smiled and stroked his chest, asking, "How are you? Is this alright?"

Which is how he knew it was.

Derek nodded and Stiles grinned, taking it as the invitation it was, and ducked down to suck Derek in again. But this time, his finger roamed farther down and pressed gently against Derek's opening. Derek couldn't help it: he jerked away. Stiles immediately drew away. Derek again grabbed his wrist and pulled it back. "I was surprised," he confessed. "Does that…touching there…feel good?"

A slow smile spread across Stiles's face, "It really, really does."

***

Stiles had _not_ been lying. Derek arched his back like a cat and gripped tighter to the bed sheets already balled in his fists. After guiding Derek over to his bed and producing a small jar of oil out of the chest by the foot, Stiles had proceeded to show Derek just how good having someone's fingers inside him could feel. And it didn't hurt that they were Stiles's long, dexterous fingers that chased Derek's pleasure and comfort for close to twenty minutes before slowly easing out. In fact, he was pretty sure that it was the fact that they were Stiles’s fingers that made the difference.

What happened after that shifted Derek's worldview forever.

"Fuck, Derek, _fuck_ ," Stiles grunted from behind him, his steady thrusts never slowing. "You feel so _good_."

That was exactly how Derek felt. He felt good, he felt _amazing_. A steady thrum of pleasure sparked from different points on his body, from where Stiles gripped his hips tightly, to the cheeks of his ass where Stiles's hipbones kept smacking, to his obscenely stretched hole, where the combination of the drag on his rim and the near constant contact with a spot inside of him that literally made him see spots made it hard to stay upright on his hands and knees.

Stiles ran a hand up his back, traced the triskele, the Hale family crest, that a traveler had inked into his skin in remembrance of his family, and Derek keened. Stiles’s hand continued on its path, eventually reaching underneath Derek and giving his straining cock something to push into. It didn't last long after that. With a final, gasping moan, Derek came, his body sagging forward. Stiles followed his down, his thrusts speeding up into no rhythm at all, until his forehead fell forward to rest on Derek's back and his hips stuttered, stuttered...stopped. He laid there, draped over Derek's heaving back, for a few moments, before he slowly pulled out.

Derek felt Stiles’s seed drip gently from his body, and while he knew it should shame him, he reveled in it.

Stiles cleaned them both off with a scrap of cloth near the bed—he paid special attention to gently wiping in that most sensitive place he'd just been—and then curled up close behind Derek. After a moment of indecision, Derek relaxed back into Stiles's arms.

"Sleep now," Stiles murmured. "Tomorrow will decide both our fates."

And though he had most assuredly not expected to rest before the raid, Derek did just that and fell into a deep, contented sleep.

***

Stiles wouldn’t stop smirking at him as they rode out to the Argent castle the next day. It didn’t help matters that his horse’s gait wasn’t the steadiest, so Derek was bouncing around in the saddle a little more than usual, wincing all the while. Stiles just looked smug.

Scott (who’d simply _refused_ to stay behind once he’d heard they were going after the man who’d hurt Derek’s family…which had touched Derek, to be honest) kept looking back and forth between them with a look crossed between puzzled and knowing.

And Derek was ignoring the both of them, focused solely on the task at hand and on not getting either of them killed. He was just running silently through his and Stiles’s plan one more time when a trumpet sounded. And Stiles cursed. Loudly and colorfully.

“What-” Derek started to ask, but Stiles wasn’t paying attention to him. He was staring, with dawning horror, as the royal household crested over the hill in front of them. Stiles squeaked and, tightening the reins, he made to gallop away. But Scott reached out and reared his horse.

“Stiles,” he said in the most serious voice Derek had ever heard him use. “It’s time.”

Derek’s stomach dropped. Of course. Stiles had been conspiring with him, a lowly knight, to kill a lord. Now it was time for the king to dole out punishment, surely. Derek already knew he would take the fall for Stiles if he got the chance. As soon as the guards came to arrest Stiles, Derek would intervene, damn his own life.

That turned out to be unnecessary.

“It is the prince!” a voice called and the next thing Derek knew, the King himself was emerging from a carriage. Though he’d never met him personally, Derek recognized him because of all his, you know, royal portraits.

“Stiles,” he said patiently, his rich robes and simple circlet crown contrasting with the chagrinned smile on his weathered face. “Won’t you embrace your father?”

Derek almost fell off his horse.

“Hello, Father,” Stiles muttered from beside him and slid to the ground. He trudged over to the _king_ and stepped into his embrace. He stood stiffly at first as the _king_ hugged him tightly, but he soon melted into the moment, clinging to the _king_ , his _father_ , tightly.

So Derek was stuck on one small detail, OK?

They eventually parted and the _KING_ turned friendly eyes on Scott. “Lead Czesław’s horse, would you please, Scott?”

Well, that was it. Because Czesław Stilinski, son of John Stilinski, was the crown prince. The crown prince was betrothed to Princess Lydia of Martin, from the neighboring kingdom. Stiles was the crown prince. So Stiles was betrothed… Stiles, who had made love to him last night.

Derek was starting to feel very ill.

“ _Dad_ ,” Stiles complained. “I _told_ you I prefer Stiles.”

The king sighed. “Very well, son. Let us discuss your…extended absence…in my carriage.” He put his arm around Stiles’s shoulders and started to steer him away.

“Oh Dad, I wanted you to meet-” But he was cut off by a footman helping him into the king’s ornate carriage.

“Derek…” Scott started warily.

“Don’t,” Derek replied simply. “Just don’t.”

***

That night, Derek stole out of the camp easily, his stealth drawing no attention from the guards. Though the _prince_ was otherwise occupied with… _being a prince_ , Derek was still going to carry out their plan. He didn’t dare try to get an audience with the prince, because he didn’t want to get him in trouble with his father. Saying, _Hey, your highness, how about that illegal, dangerous raid we had planned?_ didn’t seem like the course of action of a smart man. And if it also meant he didn’t have to face Stiles, who he hadn’t seen since he disappeared into the carriage—back into his real life—then so be it. It could be a clean break for the both of them.

The last thing the prince needed was a clingy knight who thought their tryst had been more than it was—a tension reliever. Even if Derek had initially believed it meant more than that. He knew better now. He knew what little someone like him meant to someone like Stiles.

The first part of their plan (Stiles’s plan, really, but who was keeping tally at that point?) went off without a hitch. Derek snuck through the kitchen at midnight, after the final cook went to bed and before the night guard came to pilfer a sweet cake or two. He crept up the servants’ staircase, knowing there was more of a chance at getting caught by a chambermaid or valet, but also more of a chance of sympathy from his discoverer. Most of Gerard’s servants disliked—nay, hated—their lord.

But miraculously, he came across no one. The night servants were already in bed, and the morning servants had not yet arisen. Soon, he found himself in the main hall of the second floor, and that was where the fun began.

Gerard’s sizable chambers lay at the end of the hall. About five guards, all highly-trained knights (four of whom Derek had trained himself), stood between him and that door. It was time for the part of the plan which he and Stiles had argued about the most. Stiles said it was suicide, but Derek said it was faith.

Derek unsheathed his sword, stepped into the hall so he was fully visibly under a torch, and cleared his throat loudly. Five heads snapped to him, hands already drawing swords. Derek threw his own weapon to the ground and held up his hands. He saw the dawning looks of recognition on each face as three of the knights advanced and two fell back to guard Gerard’s door.

“Men, it is good to see you again,” he said sincerely.

“Sir Hale, what do you think you’re doing?” Liam, the youngest of his trainees, asked.

Derek took a deep breath. “He killed my entire family. You _know_ this to be true.”

The entire castle had heard Derek’s cries on the day he’d found out.

His men seemed to be carrying out a silent conversation, but then, one by one, they sheathed their swords.

“Avenge them,” Aiden said, clasping his shoulder.

Derek nodded and walked past them, toward the door, which was flanked on either side.

“Boyd, Isaac,” he nodded to his oldest friends and comrades. “I must.”

“If you do not succeed,” Isaac began cautiously, “we will most surely be executed along with you.”

“Well, then I must succeed,” Derek replied, letting fake confidence bleed into his tone.

These two shared a silent conversation as well, and then Boyd nodded. “If you must, you must. Do not fail.” And they stepped aside.

This was it; this was the moment he had been waiting for since the day he’d discovered his parents had been murdered, not by thieves, but by his lord and master. Derek reached his hand out for the door handle and—

Something cracked into the back of his head and everything went black.

***

His head and neck throbbed like he’d never felt before. He hesitantly opened his eyes, afraid of what he would see. But it was just Gerard’s dungeon; cliché, but expected. The grimy stone walls were just as he remembered and it was still so dim he could barely see five feet in front of him: the perfect setting for torture. He was chained to the wall, of course, and his arms were already protesting the obscene stretch.

“Here he is, awake at last!”

The voice was more than familiar; it was one Derek had once been intimately acquainted with. “Kate,” he said cautiously. “Release me.”

Her laugh, one he had once thought so harmonious and pretty, but now sounded jaded and harsh, rang through the air. “That was a good one, Derek. Tell another.”

She stepped into his line of vision and she was just as breathtaking as she’d been when they were lovers. He knew not to expect her help or sympathy. She was his worst mistake, the _reason_ Gerard had had his family killed. He’d been incensed Derek had lain with his noble-blooded daughter. And Kate hadn’t seemed to care when his family died; she’d broken their relationship off, blaming her father for its end, but Derek had known in that moment that he’d been nothing more than a diversion for her.

Rather like he’d been for Stiles. No one would ever want him for keeps.

“I’m really rather interested in finding out your grand plan,” Kate said conversationally. “And how you thought you’d actually be able to get to my father.”

“I was close,” Derek replied bitterly, knowing he was playing her game, but unable to stop himself.

“I know!” she sounded delighted. “Your men…so supportive! It was adorable. But do not worry, they will be receiving their punishment in due time.”

Not only had Derek doomed himself, he’d doomed his men as well. He didn’t deserve to live. “Just kill me and get it over with,” he muttered. “Your talk bores me.”

She laughed and stepped forward, reaching a hand out. It was only when her fingers caressed his bare chest that he realized he was naked. “Don’t worry, I will. But would you deny a lady her fun first?” She winked, squeezed his flaccid penis and left the room.

A wave of nausea overtook Derek then, whether it was from the hit on his head or Kate’s touches, he didn’t know. But he soon faded into darkness once more.

***

He dreamed. He dreamed of mole-dotted skin, strong hands gripping his hips, a joyful bark of a laugh echoing through the air. He dreamed of Stiles.

Soft hands were cradling his face and Stiles was murmuring sweet words into his hair, words like “love” and “fool” and “found you.”

“I love you,” Derek whispered, hoping Dream Stiles wouldn’t rebuff him as Real Stiles surely would.

“I love you, too, you big dumb idiot.”

Derek snapped awake. Stiles was standing less than a foot from him, fingers now carding through Derek’s blood-mottled hair. “Stiles?” he gasped. “Are you truly here or just an apparition?”

Stiles chuckled. “I am truly here, though I’m sure that I would still say the same thing if I _were_ an apparition. And I am honored you think you’d see an apparition of me at all.”

Derek couldn’t help the heat rising in his cheeks, though if it was from Stiles’s teasing or the liquid warmth in his head, he couldn’t be sure. “You came for me.”

“Of _course_ I did. Though I can’t believe you left without me. I thought we were in this _together_ ,” Stiles snapped.

“We _were_ ,” Derek countered. “But I didn’t know you were the _prince_.”

Stiles looked hurt. “I didn’t realize that would make a difference-”

“Of course it does!” Derek exploded, the pain in his head be damned. “You’re the prince! You’re betrothed! I was just a dalliance!”

Stiles’s eyes went from confused and upset to angry faster than Derek had ever seen. “I thought you were different!” Stiles shouted in his face. “My whole life, everyone has always treated me like I’m a glass slipper, waiting to break at too heavy a footfall. I had the best tutors, the best servants, the best clothes. I also only had one friend!” His grip tightened in Derek’s hair, and then he broke away, as if he was still afraid to hurt Derek, even now. He paced away, running his hands through his own hair. “My father knows I hate the attention and expectation that comes from being the next king, so he allows me my peculiar retreat every year, where I go to that small estate with just a handful of servants and old Finstock. No one knows where I am and I keep to myself while I’m there. It was as perfect as it could be. And then you showed up.” He threw Derek an accusing look at these words. “I was terrified I’d have to abandon my house once word spread I was there. But you didn’t recognize me.”

Gerard had never hung a portrait of the crown prince, only the king. He used to call Stiles a “young upstart.”

“And it was _amazing_ ,” Stiles continued. “Here was my chance to see if someone could like me for _me_ and not my future crown. And you _did_. We got along so well, but I knew I felt more for you than you for me, but then, last night, I-”

“Well, isn’t this _adorable_?” Kate drawled from the doorway. “Is this your latest nobleman, Derek?” She winked exaggeratedly at Stiles as she sauntered into the room. “Careful with this one, or he might get so clingy you have to kill his whole family.”

Derek’s heart stopped. “You mean…”

“Oh, Kate!” Kate mocked in a high, breathy voice. “Does that mean _you_ , my one true love, were the one to light the fire that burned my whole family alive?” She smirked. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but that is exactly what I meant.”

“You killed his family, not Gerard?” Stiles asked, while Derek’s vision went blurry.

“Oh, Gerard knew, don’t get me wrong,” Kate held out her hands in a placating gesture. “But it was my idea and my torch that did the deed.”

“You Argents are truly terrible,” Stiles accused.

“What are you gonna do about it, run to daddy?” Kate asked. At Stiles’s surprised look, Kate laughed. “Yes, I know who you are, _your highness_. We met once at court.” She dipped into the most sarcastic curtsey Derek had ever seen. “Your father is weak and so are you. The Argents will soon be the ruling family in this country and there’s nothing you can do about it. Just try and stop me.”

“Alright,” Stiles tipped his head in a courtly bow. Kate laughed cruelly again. What happened next happened very fast. Stiles drew his blade, lunged with a perfect thrust, and ran Kate through. He twisted his sword viscously and gripped her shoulder tight, pulling her body closer and lodging his blade deeper. “This is for the Hales,” he said, voice as steely as his weapon, and shoved her off his sword and to the ground. Blood bubbled from her mouth and she laid there, jerking, as her body failed her and her own life blood suffocated her. Stiles turned to Derek calmly, wiping his blade on his fine wool tunic. “I am sorry if you wanted the pleasure of killing her. But I could not listen to her for a single moment more.”

Derek shook his head, mind in a daze. “It’s fine. Even after all she has done, I’m not sure I could have killed her.” Stiles had ended his torment for him, when he knew he could not have.

“I understand.” Stiles sheathed his sword and walked back over to Derek. “Now to free you, so you can finish what you started.”

“Only if you will finish it with me.”

Stiles smiled. “With pleasure.”

***

When it finally came time to do it, killing Gerard was laughably easy. The guards let them through again, Kate’s body was cooling in the dungeon and thus could not stop them, and Gerard was asleep. Easy.

Almost too easy. Just as Derek crept up to his bedside, his boot displaced a stone in the floor and a panel in the wall opened with a click. Stiles tackled him to the floor and the arrows whizzed by over their heads. “A booby trap,” Stiles’s muffled voice came from where his head was buried in Derek’s shoulder.

“Chris, Gerard’s son, is quite the weapons expert,” Derek explained.

“That would have been helpful to know,” Stiles muttered, sounding put out, as he hauled himself, and then Derek, up.

During the commotion, Gerard had awoken, and he was squawking for the guards from his bed. Once he realized Stiles and Derek were on their feet and no one seemed to be coming, he leapt out of bed, surprisingly spry for an elderly man, and grasped the blade leaning against his armoire. “Derek of Hale,” he sneered. “I should have known you’d return, bent on stupid revenge. But I have news for you. Even if you kill me, your family will remain unavenged!”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, we know. Kate actually killed them, but you knew and approved, yada yada.” Gerard’s face blanched. “Sorry to ruin your big reveal.” And take away his leverage.

Derek knew, in that moment, that he loved Stiles. He knew they could never be anything more than a tryst, but he loved Stiles fiercely, with all his heart and soul.

Gerard bolted. Or tried to bolt. Stiles produced a knife from seemingly out of nowhere and threw it, hitting Gerard in the leg and knocking him to the ground. “He’s all yours,” he said to Derek.

Stiles stood there and watched, gaze never wavering, as Derek stepped forward and, with one heaving swing, cut Gerard’s head clean off. “So you went with beheading, huh? Nice touch, bit too bloody for my taste. They’ll _never_ get these stains off the floor now…”

Derek turned and fell to his knees in front of Stiles. “Your highness, I pledge my sword and my life to you. If you will let me, I will join the royal guard and always protect you. And if you must kill me for what I have done, so be it.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to kill you, I’m going to kiss you.”

Derek’s heart sped up as Stiles grasped his arms and helped him to his feet. They both swayed forward, a hair’s breadth apart and-

The door burst open and the royal guard swarmed in. “Your highness!” the one leading the charge cried. “Are you alright?”

Stiles sighed and stepped away from Derek. “Later,” he whispered, his eyes full of promise. And then he drew his shoulders up, _became the prince he was_ , and met the guards as they approached.

But Derek knew that later really meant “never.” And even if it meant something, it certainly didn’t mean forever.

***

            It turned out that the king had had Stiles followed after someone reported him missing (apparently, Scott had folded like a bad hand of cards when he realized Stiles could be in real danger). Derek and Stiles were separated once again in the ensuing chaos, but not before Stiles promised that his father would understand and Derek had no reason to worry. Which is how Derek found himself formally meeting the king after they returned to camp. With Stiles nowhere in sight, the king pardoned him and invited him to join the royal guard. Derek knew, logically, that Stiles had _had_ to have had something to do with it, but his not being there was the final nail in the coffin of whatever there was between them, as far as Derek was concerned. Stiles was trying to distance himself.

Yet, it seemed to not be Derek’s week in the “things he knew for certain” department, because no sooner had he arrived in the tent that had been assigned to him than a messenger appeared and told Derek that Stiles had sent for him.

Derek figured the meeting was going to be the “You can be my knight and my friend, but nothing more” speech or, God forbid, the “I never want to see you again” banishment, so he was struck speechless when he entered the prince’s tent and Stiles was standing in the middle of it, in just a robe. The tent flap fell closed behind Derek and Stiles, without preamble, pushed the robe off his shoulders. He was wearing nothing underneath.

“I thought we could celebrate,” he said, smirk curling at his mouth.

Derek’s traitorous eyes drank in every inch of the beautiful skin on display before him. But he knew what he had to do. Because if this was what Stiles wanted, Derek couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be another noble’s plaything again. As much as he wished to hold onto Stiles for as long as he could, he knew he had to let him go. It would be better for them both when Stiles’s betrothed came knocking.

“I can’t.”

Stiles’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I can’t, Stiles, and I won’t. I was disposable to Kate because of her blood and look where that got me. I refuse to be a plaything of the nobility. Though I desperately want to,” he finished in a quiet voice. There was no use in lying to Stiles at that point.

“But…I told you,” Stiles began, crossing his arms over his chest, seemingly to hide his nakedness, but forgetting he was bare everywhere. “I told you how I care for you. Why do you think I would…dispose of you? Do you think so little of me and our time together?”

“Of course not,” Derek hastened to assure him, even now never wanting to see the young man hurt. “But I know how this works. A prince is free to sleep with who he likes and then he has to marry a princess.”

“Most covert relationships do not end when one party gets married,” Stiles pointed out.

Derek nodded. “I know. But any I would have would end.”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and then pulled his plush robe back on, tying it but never taking his eyes off Derek. “What if the party getting married has no plans to love anyone other than his current lover?”

Derek couldn’t help the small flutter that went through him at the word _love_. “He’d still have to lay with his new wife,” Derek replied sadly.

At this, Stiles actually _smiled_. “All right, this is when I think we’re best served moving from our hypothetical lovers to the people we’re really talking about—us. You know that I am betrothed to Lady Lydia of Martin.” Derek nodded. “You also know that I do not love her.” At that, Derek shook his head. Stiles sighed. “Well, I don’t. Lydia and I have known each other a long time, and while there may have been a point when we were babes that I fancied myself in love with her, we are now just good friends. I couldn’t imagine lying with her.”

“Yet you are the prince,” Derek pointed out. “And you will one day be king. A king needs an heir.”

“Now that’s where I’m ahead of you!” Stiles grinned and motioned for Derek to step further into the tent and sit. Derek sat next to Stiles on his futon, hesitantly. “I once told you that Scott’s mother, Melissa, is the finest physician in this kingdom.” Derek tilted his head in acknowledgment. “I was not stretching the truth. She is. And she has devised a way to impregnate Lydia without my ever having to touch her in that way!” he finished triumphantly.

Derek blinked. “How is that possible?”

Stiles shrugged. “It has something to do with my seed and an odd cylindrical object and Lydia’s womb and…” Stiles trailed off. “I’m not really sure. But she’s had success with some villagers who were having trouble having children.”

“So you wouldn’t have to…”

“I’d never have to be unfaithful for matters of state,” Stiles replied sincerely. “And I promise you that I would never be unfaithful for any other reason, either. Lydia holds no appeal for me; neither do any other maidens or ladies. I have my eye on one knight in particular.” He winked at Derek. “Besides, Lydia’s consort Parrish would punch me if I laid one untoward hand on her, prince or not.”

“He could try, at least,” Derek joked, unable to stop the hope building in his heart. “But you are formidable on the battlefield.”

Stiles smiled at that, but soon grew serious again. “So, what do you say, Derek? Do you think we can try to make this work together? You can be my knight and I your prince and eventually your king, but most importantly, your love. I love you, Derek.”

Derek’s breath caught. So many conflicting emotions were swirling through Derek. He believed Stiles; he’d never lied about anything except the fact that he was the prince, and Derek understood why he had done that. But was he ready for forever with Stiles? Did he trust Stiles to give it to him?

Seeming to sense his hesitation, Stiles gently sank to his knees in front of Derek on the floor. Resting both hands lightly on Derek’s knees, Stiles breathed, “You pledged your sword and your life to me. I’d rather have your heart.”

And in that moment, Derek knew. He could never be parted from Stiles, physically or emotionally. With a small smile, Derek leaned forward and kissed the prince hard.       “You have it already,” he murmured once the kiss broke.

Stiles’s grin was blinding. “And you have mine. Now,” his look turned mischievous as he sat back down next to Derek, “about that celebration…”

Stiles edged forward on the futon and cupped both hands around Derek's face. "I'm really thinking I want forever with you," Stiles murmured.

Derek wanted that, too. "I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."

"So, forever then," Stiles grinned and leaned forward. His lips touched Derek's, but this time, they were possessive, claiming, like he was trying to prove to Derek that he'd never let him go.

Derek dropped back onto the soft cushions and pulled Stiles with him. "I thought you were going to show me how much you love me," he teased, fingers dancing under the belt of Stiles's robe.

"Be careful what you wish for," Stiles smirked. "My love could be too much."

"I have a high tolerance."

Stiles grinned and shrugged his robe off again. Derek's breath caught at the sight of all that creamy, mole-dotted skin. Stiles wasted no time in stripping Derek of his garments, until he was just in his smallclothes, breathing heavily and watching Stiles bite his lip, almost as if he was deciding where to start. He must have made up his mind, because he scooted down the futon until he was practically on the floor and… _nuzzled_ Derek through the thin cloth barrier between the open air and his cock. Derek arched, shocked at the pleasure spiking through him at that simple action. Then Stiles _mouthed_ at him, the small damp spot already there growing until the fabric was translucent.

"S-Stiles," he choked out, hand resting gently on the prince's head.

Stiles wiggled his eyebrows at him and hooked his fingers in the undergarment, working it off Derek's hips. "Lift," he breathed, and Derek obeyed, arching his back again so Stiles could slip the cloth down and finally off his body. Now they were both as bare as the day they were born.

"Can I try something?" Stiles whispered.

"Of course," Derek immediately replied. "I trust you."

Stiles's thumb stroked his cheek. "That may be even better than _I love you_." He slid sensuously down Derek's body until he was again level with his straining cock. But instead of taking it in his mouth like Derek thought (and hoped) he was going to, he cupped the back of Derek's knees and pressed up and out. Derek spread his legs obligingly, but tensed when Stiles ducked down and…licked his opening. "Is this alright?" Stiles asked.

"I-I'm not sure yet. Keep going and I'll tell you if I don't like it."

"Make sure you do," Stiles quietly commanded and then dove back in. As he laved and licked at Derek's hole, the tingling he felt shifted from odd to…amazing. And when he wiggled his tongue fully _into_ Derek's body, Derek's back bowed and he moaned.

Stiles pulled back and smiled up at Derek, his mouth slick and his lips so puffy and red. Derek needed to kiss him. He yanked Stiles up and attacked his mouth, immediately plunging his tongue in to battle with Stiles's, sincerely not caring where it had just been. Then he broke the kiss just as abruptly as he'd started it. "That's enough. Carry on with what you were doing," he said mischievously.

Stiles laughed. "Oh, I'll keep _doing_ something."

He returned to his task, alternating between licking around and licking _inside_ , and Derek started to stroke his hair. "You make me so happy."

A full body shudder ran through Stiles and Derek was pretty sure it wasn't because he was grinding against Derek's ankle. "You make me happier than I've ever been," Stiles said in reply. He stood on shaky legs and rummaged around in the saddlebag on the floor, Derek watching his well-toned ass flex the entire time. "Aha!" he stood up, clutching the same jar of oil from the first time.

"Did you bring that with you hoping this would happen?" Derek asked curiously.

"Yes," Stiles replied easily, unapologetic.

He climbed back over Derek, and where he'd been slow and methodical with his tongue, he hurried with his fingers, though Derek felt no discomfort because of all their previous play.

Soon enough, Stiles was wiping his fingers on the expensive cushion he'd placed under Derek's hips and looking directly into Derek's eyes. "Are you ready? Is this alright?"

Derek would never get tired of being asked. He understood the care it showed. "I've been ready my whole life, I think."

Stiles smirked. "What a sap, I love it." And he pushed forward and in before Derek could form a snarky reply, whatever he was about to say catching on a gasp.

Stiles gave him a moment to adjust, but started moving as soon as Derek nodded. He kept shifting his knees slightly, moving Derek's lower body this way and that, which Derek understood as soon as that special place inside him sparked as Stiles brushed it. Derek grunted, clenching down on the hard cock inside, and he came to a decision. "Harder," he ordered.

Stiles, who had sweat forming on his brow from the exertion, nodded and set his knees and…just gave it to him. His hips pistoned back and forth, the steady drive of his hot, hard cock working Derek toward orgasm. His ass and his dick felt connected like they never had before, and every time Stiles hit that spot inside him, Derek's cock grew impossibly harder and he got impossibly closer. It wasn't possible…he couldn't without-

Stiles reached down and palmed his testicles, which were drawn up tight to his body, and white hot pleasure exploded through him. He thrust up into the air and came, never having been touched. Stiles looked on in awe, his hips never stopping their relentless pounding. Derek clenched down hard as the pleasure was wrung out of him and Stiles powered through it for a handful of strokes before the tight clutch of Derek's body pushed him over the edge as well. He gave a few last aborted thrusts and then settled on top of Derek. "Can I lay here awhile?" he asked, his voice low and gravely.

"As long as you want," Derek murmured in reply, stroking his hands gently up and down Stiles's trembling back. "We have forever, after all."

***

**Ten Years Later**

Czesław Stilinski was a great king, one who would go down in history for his quick thinking and compassion. His queen was the most beloved woman in all of the world; she was as wise as she was fierce. And Sir Derek of Hale, all would come to know, was the king’s closest confidant and most trusted adviser. Minstrels sang songs of their victories in battle together. The kingdom of Beacon never shone brighter than in those golden years.

***

Derek woke slowly and rolled over to encounter an empty bed. With an indulgent smile, he eased himself up and decided to forgo his robe. He knew where he was headed, and he wouldn’t have to leave the chamber. Sure enough, Stiles was right where he’d thought the king would be, bent over their old wooden table, used all those years ago to plan Gerard of Argent’s demise. He’d never been able to part with the thing, and thus it had moved with them every time they switched chambers: once when Stiles moved permanently back to the royal castle and then again when he’d moved into the king’s luxurious chambers after his father’s sudden passing. Two things always moved with him: the table and Derek.

Derek slid in behind him and wrapped his arms around the toned torso. “Good morrow, my king,” he murmured into a mole-dotted ear.

Stiles’s body relaxed back into his. “And to you, my love.”

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, nosing leisurely along his hairline. “Up so early…I missed you.”

Stiles’s happy laugh still caused butterflies to shoot through Derek’s stomach, even after all this time. “Just thinking,” Stiles replied.

“About what?” Derek lipped at the other ear.

“You,” Stiles answered. “And how much I love you.” He turned in Derek’s arms and drew him into a gentle kiss. “Now go get dressed. You know Lydia has something ridiculous planned for Scott and Allison’s first anniversary feast.”

“Lydia has plans for her plans,” Derek agreed solemnly. “Will Claudia and John be there?”

Stiles’s face lit up at the mention of his children. “I should hope so. Lydia wouldn’t have it any other way. And neither would I.”

“Good,” Derek smiled. He loved Stiles’s children as if they were his own, and the fact that they happily called him“Uncle Derek” didn’t hurt. The fact that Melissa’s ingenious impregnation idea had also worked didn’t hurt either.

“Now away with you,” Stiles flapped a hand at him. “I was busy mooning over you in peace.”

Derek chuckled. “Don’t contemplate your love too long,” he said as he started back the way he’d come. “You know I don’t like to get dressed without fucking at least once.”

Stiles’s breath caught. “I will be in momentarily, I _swear_.”

Derek laughed and casually laid back in bed, awaiting his love. He never thought he’d get much of a life after he lost his family and was betrayed by his lord. But Stiles had come into his life and rearranged everything he’d ever thought about anything, in all of the best ways. Derek’s life had meaning and love, the two most important things. He trained all new recruits, helped plan all battles, and advised the king on any matter he wished. Gerard’s household had been dismantled, his family disgraced (except Allison, Kate’s niece, who had a kind heart and a deep desire to prove herself and make up for her family’s faults), and his legacy destroyed. Derek had a home, friends, and purpose. And to top it off, Derek had the most attentive, most adoring lover and partner in the world. Whether it was a meeting of state, a quiet moment in their chambers reading or talking, or an intense moment of lovemaking when Stiles pinned Derek down and fucked him silly or made love to him sweetly (or when he fucked Stiles, though he was man enough to admit he preferred it the other way around), Stiles was constantly in his orbit and Derek wouldn’t have it any other way. Every day, Stiles reminded Derek of just how much he loved him.

It had all happened just as Stiles had promised, all those years ago. Stiles was an amazing king, Derek was his knight and love, and the kingdom was happy. Derek never should have doubted him, because Stiles was a king truly worthy of the title.

_The End._

           

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all liked it. Please review if you have a moment...this one took a lot out of me and some encouragement would be awesome :-) And I totally know that Melissa's "baby procedure" is ridiculous for the time period, but I didn't want my boys to have to do that to each other!
> 
> Also, I do that [tumbling](http://runwiththisdinosaur.tumblr.com/) thing.


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